A Black Heart Disgusted
by Draconai
Summary: A dark mood needed ventilation. Non-specific AU, unpleasant themes within.


Draco: An unkind mood needed ventilation.

This is intended to be taken separately from all my other works at the moment. Also, a warning: though not asomuch as to merit an "M" rating, this is going to be a bit unpleasant.

Characters &amp; weapons © Square Enix and Disney

* * *

**A Black Heart Disgusted**

Pocket lighters have a single, significant problem. The flick of the wheel, hold of the button action required to triger a spark and continuous fuel leaves a thumb far too close to the resulting flame, making it easy to burn oneself - moreso if it is being used to spread a flame. Cigarettes, fortunately, maintain only an ember, not a blaze - regardless, a lone soldier on guard in a prison camp _did_ end up burning his thumb trying to sate his addiction. As his lighter fell to the ground and curses spewed forth from his lungs, his only comfort was that the cigarette was bright.

He glanced back at the prisoner he was guarding - a young girl in a black tank top and baggy yellow pants, both torn at the seams. A spotted hat had adorned her head, and a small yellow scarf flowed from her neck; both had been removed, to provide her with a cushion against which to cry. Her imprisonment took the form of a small steel shipping crate that had once been used for transporting refrigerated goods; the crate's door had been replaced with steel bars, such that the prisoner would not suffocate, and a blanket was wrapped around her, as the crate did not hold heat very well. Guard duty was never kind to one short of sleep, and he counted his blessings that the girl was too broken to protest against her imprisonment.

A commotion in the camp outside caused the soldier to turn back to his (rather large) tent's entrance. With a roll of his eyes, he pulled himself from his chair. "Don't tell me those fools are quarrelling again," he muttered. "I swear-"

His hand was halfway to the tent flaps when they were drawn open from outside.

A boy stood there, in a dark, uniform outfit; slate grey jacket and leggings, black boots, and fingerless white gloves. A curled heart rested just under the collar of his jacket, and on the backs of his gloves, implying he was part of a group. His hair was spiked in every direction, and jet-black; his eyes shone bright gold, and tremored with an impossibly _dark_ force; his lips were stained red with something that was slowly darkening with exposure to the air. At his side was a girl in a similar outfit, though somewhat more feminine; her gloves were closed around her fingers, and the sleeves slightly tighter. Her hair was likewise jet-black, and her eyes icy blue.

All this registered in the soldier's mind in the time it took him to step back in surprise. The boy raised one foot, slamming it into the guard's chest; the cigarette tumbled out of his mouth, landing in the girl's hand as the soldier landed in the seat he had risen from. The girl glanced at the stick in her hand, then raised her gaze, past the guard and to the cage behind him; the prisoner girl there was watching the commotion, her face streaked from tears.

The uniformed girl turned towards the boy.

A seething breath passed through the boy's lips, and the air around him seemed to _darken_.

"Get her out of here," he said to his ally. "I'll deal with him."

The girl nodded, dashing past the soldier in his seat. Still winded from the boy's kick, he tried to reach for the pistol holstered at his hip - yet no sooner had he started to move than a blaze emerged from the boy's hand. He turned to see a menacing weapon appear there - a combination of sharpened black gears and bronze blades and necrous blue eyes that threatened to cut him even at that distance.

His hand fell back to his side.

The boy's ally emerged from behind him now, the prisoner girl at her side. They exchanged only passing glances and a solemn nod from the boy before she left the tent; then he reached back, drew the flaps shut, and swept the zipper down.

The weapon in his hand began to tremble.

He turned with a swing of the weapon, and a black mist surged through the air. The soldier reached again for his firearm, but too soon was the mist there, flowing through his mouth and nose and surging down his throat. For a brief moment, the air in his lungs seemed to freeze solid; then it was air again, and he started in his seat, panicking.

The boy smirked, stepping forward. "Sorry about your soldiers," he taunted, his voice not sorry at all. "They put up a hell of a fight - as far as you guys go. Must have been a real _shame_ to lose them."

The soldier in his seat glared up at him. "What the hell do you want?"

"Information," the boy replied. "And you're going to give it to me."

A snicker from the soldier. "What makes you say that?"

"That stuff you just sucked in," was the answer. "You can't actually lie."

"Don't be ridiculous," the soldier insisted. "We've been looking into that. The test results have all died. We've been going at it for years. The higher-ups almost fired me when I told them about the failures."

He slammed his hands into his mouth upon realizing that he had continued to talk.

The boy smirked. "You see?" he mused. "You can keep silent, but you can't actually lie. What's your name?"

"Vicks." He tried to say "Biggs", but his real name came out instead.

"Lovely," the boy growled, rolling his eyes. He raised his weapon, setting the gear in the center of the shaft against his soldier. "Vanitas Vanitatum," he used, reciprocating the introduction.

Vicks tried to call him out on it. _You're shitting me, right?_ But his voice wouldn't come out, for he knew this boy had no reason to lie.

"Well, Vicks," Vanitas mused. "I'm going to ask you a few questions. You might be a good man. Morals. Honour. All that haous bullshit. If so, your answers will satisfy me, and I will let you live to report me to your superiors. Some have answers that won't exactly be fresh in your mind. Depending on how recent the memories are, or how fond you are of them, it might take you a while to recall them. I won't penalize you for hesitating."

Now he pulled his geared weapon from his shoulder, holding it low at his side.

"But if you are not a good man... if you're vicious, malicious, with a heart as black as pitch. If you're like me... If you _disgust_ me..."

He raised the weapon before him, stepping forward so that Vicks could see just how sharp the edge of it was.

"Then I will take you to the void that waits beyond death from the moment this gear tastes your blood."

Vicks swallowed heavily and nodded to show that he understood.

Vanitas stepped forward, impaling the weapon on the back of his chair, just past his shoulder, with the bladed edge of the gear facing towards his neck.

"Unus." _One_. "Why did you imprison that girl, Relm Arrowny?"

"We were told she has information pertaining to the whereabouts of an enemy to someone high in the chain of command," Vicks answered. "We were ordered to use any means necessary to make her provide us with the information.

"Duabus." _Two_. "How long has she been imprisoned here?"

Vicks lowered his gaze. "The men were speaking of months... If the reports are correct, she has been in captivity for the better half of a year."

"Tria." _Three._ "How long have you been at this post?"

"I do not know the number exactly," Vicks admitted, "due to the conditions of this camp, but I believe it has been a good four weeks."

Now Vanitas reached forward, pulling his blade out of the chair.

"You have answered three of my questions," he mused, "and your answers have not dissatisfied me. Now, I have one more question for you. Answer it, and when you next exhale, you will be capable of lying again. That oughta save you some skin if your higher-ups are half the jackasses they sound like they are."

He turned away, setting his weapon on his shoulder again.

"You may not understand my last inquiry," he said to Vicks. "And if this is the case, you will be capable of asking, and I will not penalize you. Because if you do not understand, that is answer enough on its own. And it is an answer that satisfies me."

His empty hand went up to his chest.

"Indeed... it may even warm my heart."

Then he turned around, and his golden eyes were blazing with fury.

"But I don't think you'll have to ask."

Both hands closed on the handle of his blade as he held it before him, the gear at the tip braced to divide his face in two. One by one, each prong on the gear lit up with a flame of necrous purple; and once all of them were gathered, the entire gear was consumed by the dark fire. Slowly, he raised it above his head, until a lick of flame grazed the top of the tent - yet the cloth was undamaged as he lowered it before Vicks' face, hardly a hand's breadth away. The flame carried no heat, only a force of pure negativity, yet sweat broke out on the soldier's face.

When Vanitas spoke, his voice was not raised, and was cold as the pit of winter.

"_Did you enjoy what you did to her, you son of a bitch?_"

It was at this moment that Vicks realized Vanitas had no intention of letting him go free, that he had planned this from the start, and a shout of horror tore out of his mouth as the flame parted from the gear on the boy's weapon, and moved to consume him.

+x+x+x+

Vanitas stepped out of the tent, his Void Gear in hand. The girl who had accompanied him, Xion, turned towards him with a look of hesitation on her face; and she was surprised to find an expression of disgust on his.

"We're done here."


End file.
